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Gaskell went to the bookcase and looked for a moment at the titles of the books, as though expecting to see something in them to assist his inquiries; but finding apparently no clue, he said "This is the last time we shall meet for three months or more; let us play the Gagliarda and see if there be any response."
Gaskell once said about the music of Graziani's 'Areopagita' suite. It had always, he used to say, a curious effect upon his imagination, and the melody of the Gagliarda especially called up to his thoughts in some strange way a picture of a certain hall where people were dancing.
I had felt a reluctance even so much as to hear the air of the Gagliarda, and though he had spoken to me of the subject on more than one occasion, my brother had never offered to play it to me.
John was very agitated, and as he commenced the Gagliarda his hands trembled so that he could scarcely play the air. Mr. Gaskell also exhibited some nervousness, not performing with his customary correctness. But for the first time the charm failed: no noise accompanied the music, nor did anything of an unusual character occur. They repeated the whole suite, but with a similar result.
At its conclusion Mr. Gaskell stopped before proceeding to the minuet, and turning the stool on which he was sitting round towards the room, observed, "How very strange, Johnnie," for these young men were on terms of sufficient intimacy to address each other in a familiar style, "How very strange! I thought I heard some one sit down in that chair when we began the Gagliarda.
In another moment I saw that the air represented consisted of the opening bars of the Gagliarda in the suite by Graziani with which my brother and I were so well acquainted.
The Gagliarda was reached but never finished, for near the end of the second movement Palamede from behind drove a stiletto into his friend's heart. He had found out that day that Adrian had not spared even Olimpia's honour. I have endeavoured to condense into a connected story the facts learnt piecemeal from Sir John in conversation.
The room was now filled with the clear light of the summer morning: the whole vision had lasted but a few seconds, but my brother knew that there was no possibility of his having been mistaken, that the mystery of the creaking chair was solved, that he had seen the man who had come evening by evening for a month past to listen to the rhythm of the Gagliarda.
All was deadly still, but I could perceive that music was being played somewhere far away; and almost at the same minute my ears recognised faintly but unmistakably the Gagliarda of the "Areopagita." I have already mentioned that for some reason which I can scarcely explain, this melody was very repugnant to me.
I could only stare at my brother's poor withered face, realising then for the first time that he must be mad, and that it was the haunting of the Gagliarda that had made him so. We stood there I believe for half an hour without speech or motion, and all the time that sad figure at the end of the gallery continued its performance.
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